


you say it's your birthday

by laedymoonarchive



Category: Queen (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laedymoonarchive/pseuds/laedymoonarchive
Summary: --- this is a repost of a fic originally published on my tumblr. i no longer use it and am slowly getting rid of my posts, so everything i've written is being archived here ---prompt: C14 (birthday surprise) and D9 (spanking)warnings: smut.it ’s smut below the cut. unprotected sex, semi public sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, spanking, teasing
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Reader
Kudos: 5





	you say it's your birthday

**Author's Note:**

> \--- this is a repost of a fic originally published on my tumblr. i no longer use it and am slowly getting rid of my posts, so everything i've written is being archived here ---
> 
> prompt: C14 (birthday surprise) and D9 (spanking)
> 
> warnings: smut.it ’s smut below the cut. unprotected sex, semi public sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, spanking, teasing

you promised each other this year, you and your boyfriend, that you’d spend no more than thirty pounds on each other’s birthday presents.

with roger concentrating full time on his band and you on getting your degree, the two of you renting a flat in the heart of london and possessing an aptitude for spending copious amounts on frothies at the pub downstairs, there really isn’t extra money to flout on expensive gifts.

but as the date had crept closer to the twenty-sixth of july, the thought of presenting roger with only the twenty-five pound vinyl you’d found at a shop in town started making you feel like an increasingly shitty girlfriend.

because even though roger’s stall at the kensington markets with freddie is the only thing keeping your units owner from slapping a dislodged banner on your door, roger finds other ways to treat you better than you’re sure you deserve.

long hours spent hunched over your books often prompt a bubble bath, lavender scented candles having been arranged around the rim. you can always expect a mug of honey and lemon tea waiting on the kitchen table after hour-long phone conversations with your ever-critical mother. on nights when it’s simply too cold and dreadful to venture down to the bar, movie marathons and home-cooked dinners come without a question.

and so _roger_ deserves better, you decided. more than just a record.

a surprise, you’d thought, would be perfect. dinner with his mates, perhaps, and something just for him. and although the lingerie you’ve purchased for the latter is technically more of a present for you than it is for roger, you’re sure he’ll appreciate it. hopefully so much so that he doesn’t question the sixty pound price tag currently attached to his birthday celebrations.

and that’s how you ended up here, indirectly. sat on the bench of the womens’ bathroom, the cold marble springing goosebumps on the skin of your thighs and roger’s hushed voice reverberating off the tiled walls around you.

it had started with teasing, really. with rogers best mates sat across from you at a restaurant far fancier than your usual watering hole and the dangerously skimpy lingerie set under your dress, you couldn’t resist dragging your pinky up your thigh as roger gazed at you. collecting the silky material as it went, revealing the soft, lavender lace beneath.

“rude to stare.” you’d whispered.

“it’s mean to tease.” he’d replied.

he’d leant back in his chair, spreading his legs slightly so you could see the tented crotch of his pants, an _invitation_ to play with him.

you’d reached for his cock behind the table, and he’d barely lasted two strokes of his clothed shaft before he’d fumbled his wine glass.

“hands on the table, you two.” freddie had scolded playfully as roger dabbed at the crimson stain on his shirt. you could tell he was embarrassed. worked up. pissed off.

“you’ll bloody pay for that.” he’d muttered, with a devious smile that made your stomach turn.

before you could tug your dress back down your thighs, he was tugging _you_ off to the bathrooms, freddie’s applause and brian’s yells of “very subtle” fading behind you.

now, roger nudges the strap of your dress off your shoulder, running his hands over the outline of your bra and down the silk straps criss-crossing your rib cage.

“buy this for me, did you love?”

you nod, tipping your head back slightly as roger circles your nipple with his pinky.

“how much did it cost?” his hands drift under your dress from the hem, snaking their way up your thighs _devilishly_ slowly.

“s-sixty pounds. _god_.”

“sixty? isn’t that over our limit?”

“it’s your birthday. wanted to give you something special.” you say, managing to gain your composure for long enough to get the sentence out.

“naughty thing. ignoring our rules like that.” 

you meet his eyes, prying his fingers from your clit and letting the band of your knickers snap back to your thigh.

“punish me, then.”

“ _punish_ you? oh, i will.” roger taunts, his eyebrows quirked.

“shouldn’t’ve fucking teased me like that, out there. gonna take your _punishment_ for that as well?” roger mutters, his words soft but his hands harsh. you nod, dripping with anticipation.

roger hooks a finger through the lace of your underpants, tugging them down your thighs and discarding them completely with an expert flick of the wrist.

“roger!” you gasp. “what if someone comes in? my knickers are halfway across the room.”

“couldn’t resist, darlin. shouldn’t’ve worn such _lovely_ knickers.”

_god, he’s a prat sometimes. but a prat who makes you feel such lovely, tingly things in the pit of your stomach._

roger assists you off the bench, turning you around so your hip bones are flush against the cold stone.

you grasp your dress at the waist as he tugs his pants to his knees.

“tell me if it gets too much, yeah love?” roger says, his voice slipping back to its naturally soft tone. the kind that drifts down the hallway as he’s brewing your tea or sprinkling lavender salts into your bath.

“yes, yes, get on with it.” you prompt with a laugh. roger’s duality always strikes you. how he can go from being a brash, taunting wanker your sweet, blonde boyfriend in a matter of minutes.

“might not be so cocky in a minute or two.” he grips your arse with a bruising hold, and you can feel his smirk over your shoulder.

he slides himself inside you suddenly, promoting a whimper that you quickly attempt to stifle.

you bite your lip, arch your back, needing roger to _hurry up move._ give you some friction _._

“don’t get comfortable darl.” he coos, beginning to snap his hips to yours, pulling himself completely out before burying his cock to the hilt inside of you.

“shit.” you mutter, having barely adjusted to his impetus before his hands are on your ass, their elegance in stark contrast to their rough massage. 

“could barely call this a punishment, could we?” roger chuckles. “i’d say you’re enjoying yourself from how well you’re takin’ me.”

“i- _christ_.” you give up on forming a coherent sentence when roger lands a harsh spank on your left ass cheek, followed by another and another on your right. and, fuck, the more sensitive you get the harder it becomes to keep quiet. but you’ve got to, because the thought of everyone outside knowing what you’ve been up turns your cheeks redder than your arse surely is by now.

roger’s thrusts turn soft and slow, almost agonisingly so in and out of your dripping folds. but his hands are harsh, relentless. changing tempo and strength like the drummer he is right when you’ve adjusted.

“fuck, roger.” you pant.

“pretty thing. you close?” roger says.

“mmm.” you hum, throwing your head back onto his shoulder.

you come undone with roger muttering into your ear and sucking hickies into the column of your throat, allowing yourself one, utterly pornographic moan as you do so.

you cum harder than you’ve done in months, clenching so tight that roger mutters a string of curses into your neck.

he pulls out of you at his climax, landing a final spank on your ass before shooting his load all over it, hot ribbons of cum spurting onto the sensitive skin.

“shit.” he pants.

“ _shit_.” you agree, turning to press a wet kiss to roger’s prominent collar bone.

“you better not get me going again, y/n.” roger warns, pulling away from you slightly to tug his pants back up.

“i might have to if it’ll earn me another punishment like that.”

“took that incredibly, by the way. you alright love?”

“more than, i’d say. played my arse like it was your bloody drum kit.”

“ _you minx_. if i get a stiffy every time i try to rehearse from now on, i’m blaming you.”

“as long as you’re thinking of me.” you hum as roger retrieves your under pants and readjusts your dress, always the doting boyfriend.

the two of you head back out, you dropping your head in embarrassment as you contemplate which of the innocent diners around you knows what’s occurred only a few feet and a thin wall away from them.

“took a while, you two. long lines?” john grins like a kid, earning a shove from roger as you slip back into your seats.

“leave them alone, you tosspots. it’s rog’s birthday.” freddie says, ever the enabler. “and, you’re embarrassing the poor girl.”

“thanks, fred.” you scoff, although it’s not only your embarrassment at the boy’s obvious knowledge of what you’ve been up to that making you shift in your chair.

_why on earth do these seats have to be wooden, fuck._

“can barely sit down, rog.” you murmur to your boyfriend, already engaged in the same heated conversation with brian over chord progressions that he was when you snuck off.

“just wait until we get home.” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth. “i’m not done with you yet.”


End file.
